Chances Are
by sugarplumdreams
Summary: Recently kidnapped Princess Emma has two very big problems: amnesia…and ex-Royal Naval Captain turned pirate, Killian Jones, as her full-time bodyguard.
1. Prologue

A/N: I KNOW. I should NOT be starting another project. But damn it. The Captain and the Princess! How could I resist that AU verse!? Don't worry, I have not forgotten about Blindsided or AHFMH (which at this point, lbr, is suuuuper neglected), but my schedule has cleared up so I should have a lot more time to catch up on writing :) Thank you guys for sticking with me, you know I love you all! XO

**Prologue**

_Run. Hurry. FASTER!_

She was going to collapse, she knew it was just a matter of time, but still she persisted. Her chest felt like it was going to explode, her heart hammering wildly, while the muscles in her legs screamed in protest from prolonged use.

_Don't stop! You mustn't!_

Her bare feet slammed into the ground as her arms pumped for more speed. She ducked under a branch, jumping agilely over a log in her path before veering abruptly to the right. She had an advantage, she knew these woods like the back of her hand, even in the dark with only the moon and the stars to light her way. She could do this, she was so close! She just had to reach the river, she just-

The sudden sound of hooves shot panic down her spine. A small sound of distress escaped her mouth before she could stop it. _No. No, no, no! RUN! _She wouldn't look back, she couldn't. She forced the fear down and focused the last of her energy on one simple thing: survival.

The river, that was the border of the kingdom, if she could just reach it, she would be safe!

"Quickly! This way!"

The sound of the voice made her teeth clench and her eyes water with tears. It wasn't close, but it wasn't far enough away for her to feel safe. _Don't stop! HURRY! _

She noted a grove of magnolia trees and hoped sparked in her. _Almost there! Faster, keep going!_ She turned left, making a dead sprint for where she knew the clearing just before the river was, but by the time she heard the pounding of the feet behind her, it was too late. She was hit from the side, going down in a tangle of limbs with her attacker.

A hand closed over her mouth and she panicked, body instinctively attempting to buck him off. She fought to get free. She was not going to give up, not now, not when she was so _close_!

"Your highness!" he hissed, though his voice didn't resonate with her. "Your highness! It's me!" He deflected a blow to his face, gripping her wrist and holding it to his chest to restrain her. "Easy, easy! It's just _me_! You're safe!"

_Safe?_ She'd never feel safe again.

She was crying, the tears streaming down her face as she continued to struggle with him. Then his face came into focus from her blurry eyes and she choked on a sob, relief flooding through her so quickly it made her dizzy.

"Graham?" She whispered, almost afraid to hope. Her dry throat made her voice hoarse and sound unfamiliar to her ears.

His expression was unreadable as he pushed himself up off of her and gripped her by the shoulders to help her sit up. "You're okay, you're safe," he repeated, both for his assurance as well as hers. "The guards, they-"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence when she abruptly launched herself into his arms. Sobs racked her body as she held on to him tightly, burying her face into his neck and breathing in his familiar scent, feeling mildly comforted.

_Safe._ She was safe. The ordeal was finally over. She was free. She was home.

She felt his arms go hesitantly around her, faintly heard the murmur of his voice as he spoke soothing words near her ear.

"Shhh, you're safe now. It's over Em- Princess. You're safe."

Her brain was a fog, she felt like she was slipping in and out of focus, and when the shaking started she felt him pick her up to cradle her in his arms. The tears wouldn't stop but she could still feel the exhaustion creeping in.

The darkness was so enticing. The void, where no emotion lived, where she didn't have to relive the nightmare over and over, was tempting. She couldn't stand it, it was too much. So she gave in, finally, and let go. Her eyes slid shut and body went completely lax as she slipped away into unconsciousness.

* * *

Shimmering lights, gusting winds, one splashing landing later and he was back where he hadn't been in just over a decade. Around him, his crew bustled about, efficiently preparing to sail the ship into port without any direction from him. That suited him fine, his thoughts were faraway and distracted anyway as he stood at the helm of the ship, staring out at the castle in the distance.

His stance was defensive, closed off - feet planted shoulders-width apart, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl marring his handsome face. Had it not been for the folded scrap of paper he held in his hand, it likely would have taken another decade before he'd even consider returning. Unconsciously his fingers tightened around the flimsy object. There had been no formal message on it, save for the royal crest of the kingdom, but it felt like the weight of the world. Seven flowers over a chevron symbol over a valiant lion.

He'd know it anywhere. It was a banner he'd served loyally under for years, a banner his father had served under for a lifetime, so perhaps on that technicality, even longer. That was ages ago though and many things had changed since then. His eyes flickered briefly to the center mast of the ship where a black flag with a skull and crossbones hung fluttering in wind. Many things.

"Captain Jones," his first mate spoke beside him. "Are you sure about this?"

Any other time the question would have made him smirk. It was a question Smee so often asked right before they threw themselves directly in the path of danger.

"Come now, Smee," he tsked. It was his usual response, though without any of his normal enthusiasm. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"But sir," he protested. "The King-"

"The King," he interrupted with an exasperated sigh as he crumpled the note and turned to face him. "Is requesting we grant him an audience."

Smee turned his head down, giving him an awkward bow of acquiescence before moving to join the rest of the crew on the deck. Killian watched him go then did a quick survey of his men. Satisfied with their work, he gave a small nod of approval before turning his attention back to the castle. He took a deep breath, the only sign of a cracked composure, before carefully neutralizing his expression once more. He stood where he was, refusing to retreat to his quarters or turn away - if he was going to face his past, damned if he would do it like a scared pup with its tail between its legs.


	2. Chapter One

A/N: Sorry it took so long between updates, life got a little hectic (though when doesn't it?) and then I got lost in a fic project on Tumblr xD Hope this makes up for it :) and hope your Holidays have been wonderful so far! XO

**Chapter One**

Killian stood out on the balcony of his guest quarters watching the sun come up from behind the eastern mountains. It had been a long, tiresome evening and he had yet to obtain any sleep. To his surprise, the King had been waiting for him at the port and had immediately whisked him away the minute he and his crew had docked.

Though 'whisked' was probably too kind a word, particularly when he'd had several weapons trained on his back when the palace guards had escorted them back to the castle. Not that he could blame the King, he'd built quite a reputation for himself during his time away and as careful as he had been, stories often had a habit of being passed on, regardless of the realm and most especially if someone was expecting them.

It hadn't been the reunion he'd had in mind, far from it in fact, because the last thing he'd been anticipating was for the King to tell him that Her Royal Highness, the Princess, had been kidnapped two weeks prior.

The thought still sparked his temper and made his blood simmer but he reined it in, not allowing his emotions to cloud his head. He closed his eyes, took one long, steadying breath and ordered himself to relax. From what he'd been told, she'd managed to escape somehow and find her way back to the kingdom a few evenings ago. There was a little burst of pride in that, which he pushed back as well, but not before briefly indulging in the thought that she'd always been a tough lass – at least from what he remembered of her.

An image of sunshine-bright hair and sea-green eyes popped into his mind and he forced his eyes open, refusing to reminisce. His gaze fell to the harbor as he continued to brood, eyeing his ship as it floated on the water. It didn't help, he could still see her...youthful, carefree, beautiful.

The smell of magnolias, sweet and exotic, wafted up from the orchard below and he scowled. He remembered the moonlight, the music, and the gentle swaying of- _Stop it._ Suddenly agitated, he retreated back into the sitting area – away from the aroma, away from the memories – and slammed the balcony doors shut.

He'd barely had any time to compose himself before the main door on the opposite side of the room swung open and a figure stepped inside. It was a tall man, leanly built with familiar blue eyes. Their gazes locked, held for three full heartbeats before Killian snorted and began chuckling.

"Bloody brilliant," he muttered, hands rubbing at his face tiredly.

"'Ello, _mate_," the other man replied. "Long time no see."

"Graham." Killian's hands went to his waist and he held his ground, smirking at the bite in Graham's tone. "Indeed."

They stood staring at each other for a long time, a myriad of expressions crossing their faces, though neither choosing to verbalize them. It was Graham who broke the silence, straightening his posture and turning to the side, away from Killian, to clear the path of the doorway.

"His Highness, the King, wishes to speak with you."

Killian's brow quirked and he contemplated whether or not he should sprawl out in one of the chairs just to grate on Graham's nerves. He decided against it, but began to move about leisurely.

"I've not slept yet." He yawned for dramatic effect, stretching his arms over his head.

Graham rolled his eyes but refused to look at him. "Then another hour or so of your time should make no difference."

"Tell his majesty I'd like a bath first-"

He didn't have time to finish the thought when the sharp end of a blade was suddenly poised over his heart. Killian glanced down at it, his grin widening at Graham when he finally lifted his eyes to his.

"That was not a request, _pirate_, it was an order."

His brow moved up again, studying the challenging look on the other man's face. After a moment, he swatted casually at the blade with the back of his hand, smiling when Graham's eyes flashed.

"Bad form attacking an unarmed man, Humbert." He nodded at Graham's attire, sticking his tongue in his cheek and giving him an amused look. He was sans armor, but he wore the deep greens and golds that identified him as one of the King's highest ranking military officers. He couldn't say he was surprised by that particular development. "Or should I say, 'Colonel Humbert' now?"

Graham ignored him, sheathing his sword back into place and gesturing towards the door. "It's bad form to keep the King waiting...though I suppose you would know a lot about bad form, wouldn't you, _pirate_?"

It was instinctual to want to slam his fist into Graham's face, but he quickly bit back on the urge. Instead he gave him another easy smirk before sauntering out the door.

"Nice uniform, Humbert," he answered. "I have to say, it suits you _marvelously_."

When he stepped out into the hallway, a group of guards closed ranks around them and sent Killian's patience through the roof.

"What the- is this _really_ necessary?" he demanded, fixing Graham with a glare.

"Merely a precaution. Surely a man with your..._reputation_ would understand?" Graham began the walk towards the Great Hall, where the King awaited them.

"Oh, bugger off, Humbert." One of the guards shoved at his back and Killian turned to give him a heated stare.

"Trust me, there are more important things I'd rather be doing than nannying you, _pirate_."

Killian's eyes rolled skyward and reluctantly followed after Graham, ignoring the memories threatening to fill his mind as they journeyed down the wide, familiar hallway. "How many times are you going to call me that?"

"Why? Does it bother you? It's what you are."

Another grin crossed his face at the vehemence in Graham's voice. "Perhaps, but no less a Captain, old friend."

Killian realized too late how bad his choice of words had been when Graham abruptly whirled, aggressively advancing on him until they were almost nose-to-nose.

"We are _not_ friends." He dug his index finger into Killian's chest, his eyes flashing warningly. "Not anymore, and you've no right to that title of 'Captain.' You haven't for over ten years."

He swatted Graham's hand away, just as he had done with the sword, seemingly unaffected by the harsh words.

"Problem, gentlemen?" A voice interrupted.

It was second nature for all of the men to kneel down on one knee respectfully, even for the _pirate_, and the thought made Killian scowl. He was the first to break his stance, standing up straight and meeting the King's gaze with a defiant raise of his chin, though he remained silent. Beside him, Graham grumbled something about protocol underneath his breath that made the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Apologies, your majesty," he started, rising to his feet and shoulder checking Killian on his way up. "We were-"

The King waved his hand to silence him. "You and the guards may take your leave; I wish to speak with Captain Jones alone."

The other man bristled at the use of the title and this time Killian did smirk, shooting him a smug look

"But your highness-" His protest was cut off with another wave of the King's hand.

"_Thank you_, Colonel," he said firmly, unrelenting. "But your assistance is no longer needed."

His mouth set into a grim line, Graham bowed his head. "Your majesty," he answered, having no choice but to concede.

With the swish of his cape, the King turned and continued forward, not bothering to see if Killian would follow. The two men exchanged looks one last time and just to rub salt in the wound, Killian bowed with dramatic flourish, his arms outstretched.

"See you around," he grinned. "_Colonel_."

When he turned away from Graham, his face fell and a frown marred his brow. He tried to push the emptiness from his stomach and the guilt from his heart. Tried.

* * *

She felt like she was submerged in water, all of her senses heavy and muddled. She heard muffled sounds, saw light and movement behind her closed eyes, but it was all unclear and her mind struggled desperately to bring everything into focus. She didn't know why, but she knew it was important for her to do so.

She moved to turn on her side, seeking a more comfortable position, or she felt like she did, but she didn't know that she barely stirred. She inhaled deeply and that seemed to help…she was weightless then, her groggy mind lifting her up to the surface of consciousness. She groaned in protest at the effort that took to do so – it shouldn't have been that hard.

As she came to, as her surroundings became clearer to her, she realized how challenging it was for her to open her eyes – she was so damn _tired_! After several more attempts her eyelids finally managed to flutter open.

"There you are," a quiet voice said to her right.

She felt funny, like she couldn't fully concentrate, and while she may not have felt like she was in water anymore, it was as if a fog still hovered around her head. That didn't stop her ability to clearly make out the emotion in that tone, however. How could she not? It was so raw and there was so much of it. She couldn't fathom the reasons for that.

"Doc," another voice spoke. "Shall I-"

"Yes," he answered, cutting in. "Quickly."

She heard the soft patter of feet as someone exited the chamber, followed by the click of the door as it closed. Her fingers were squeezed and she blinked as a face hovered over hers and sharpened into focus – an older face with white hair, a white beard and spectacles framed over his eyes. She didn't recognize it but it didn't frighten her. She knew it should have, but the face was kind despite its unfamiliarity. _Doc? _He had to be a doctor then. Confusion made her brows pinch together.

"What- who- _ugh_, my head," she managed. Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears, as if she hadn't spoken in days.

"Easy," he replied, touching a hand comfortingly to her shoulder. "Between the blow to your head and the medicines we've administered, you'll feel that way for a few days yet."

Her ears perked up. She'd been hit – well, that solved the mystery of the pounding headache and- she'd been _hit_. Her eyes went wide as that singular thought crossed her mind. Her breath hitched in her throat as fear sprang up out of nowhere, settling into her stomach and moving through her body until she was grasping at his hands. She fought back on the images – dark images – threatening to form in her mind. _No!_

"_P- please_," she begged, tears welling in her eyes. "You must help me, don't let them find me!"

She watched his brow pucker, first in sympathy then in puzzlement. He ran a soothing hand down her hair. "Shhh, my dear, you are quite safe. No harm will come to you here-"

The chamber door burst open and a woman rushed in, pausing just past the threshold. She was beautiful…hair black as night, skin white as snow, and lips apple red. Tears made her green eyes sparkle before they fell onto her cheeks while one of her hands fisted just under her breastbone as if she were trying to keep herself together.

She stared; another unfamiliar face that only further confused her.

"Emma," the woman breathed, her expression simultaneously full of hope and disbelief.

_Emma?_ Her stomach clenched and she barely had time to wonder about that before the raven-haired woman choked on a sob and rushed forward to encircle her in her arms.

"Oh darling," she sniffled, her hands moving over her hair and down her back as she rocked them. "You're awake, you're back."

She didn't pull away from her embrace; the ache in her heart forbade it. "Who- who are you?" she whispered.

The woman's body froze at that and she leaned back to look at her. Her arms dropped away as her brow creased with bewilderment. "Who-"

"You're still tired." Doc spoke gently to her, ignoring the other woman's expressive eyes as they rose to his in turn. "Understandably so, given the circumstances, and it's not unnatural for you to be experiencing some confusion."

_Confusion?_ Her heart slammed into her throat as realization suddenly dawned on her and she felt like she was going to be sick. This was so far beyond something as simple as confusion. She fought against blind panic as he rested his hand on her arm. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but she was far from comforted. If he noticed the sudden tension there, he didn't acknowledge it.

Then she watched him move his hand to the other woman's shoulder. Instinctively she knew it was meant both to restrain her and soothe her as well. She was grateful for it, unsure how much longer she could endure the woman's piercing stare and the emotions radiating off of her.

Her gaze drifted past them, towards the fire in the hearth that kept the room warm. Despite it, she felt cold all over…cold and empty and alone. Hollow, she was hollow inside. Bile rose up in her throat but she forced it back.

"I don't know who I am," she said abruptly, her voice was soft but surprisingly steady and she didn't stutter through the words like she assumed she would. She didn't know that her chin rose as she said it.

The woman stood from her seat, her hand closing over her mouth as she turned away, no doubt to compose herself.

"You don't remember anything?" she asked softly after a moment, facing her once more and studying her intently.

"I-" The tears threatened to well up again, at the tone in the woman's voice and the expression on her angelic face. She reached inside of herself, waiting for a glimmer of…_something, anything_ that she might be able to grasp onto. There were images, just out of her reach, both light and dark in nature. Her heart rate picked up and she shied away from them like a pup frightened from a storm.

"No," she continued, replying quietly as she shook her head. "No, I don't." She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes as she tried to settle down everything inside of her. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, as the truth of the matter finally came to light. "I'm- I'm sorry."

The woman moved her head back and forth, but stayed where she was. Her emerald eyes no longer glowed with tears but with a fierceness that most would have coward under. The look didn't scare her, if anything it was…calming – tears would only bring more tears from both of them and the dark-haired woman seemed to know that she didn't want that, so she forced back her emotions for her sake.

"You've nothing to apologize for," she said to her. "You are my-"

"_Snow_," Doc interrupted, his voice stern.

_Snow._ That was the woman's name. _One mystery solved_ she thought, however…there was something in the way Doc had said Snow's name that had her shifting her eyes back and forth between the two of them curiously.

"Perhaps it would be best if we allowed her more time to rest-"

Snow cut him off with a look – a look that was both commanding and arrogant. It was fascinating.

"You are my daughter," Snow continued, turning her green eyes to hers again. "Her Royal Highness, Emmaline Margaret Nolan. You are Princess of this realm."

Her breath exhaled on a _woosh_ and she closed her eyes once more as the titles resounded over and over in her head, followed by her name, _Emmaline_. Snow had called her 'Emma' when she had first entered her quarters, it was a shortened name, she realized, and strangely enough…it felt…suited to her. But then there was that first matter she couldn't quite wrap her head around yet, the _royal_ one.

_Blessing or curse?_ she wondered.

After a moment, she trailed her gaze back to the woman in front of her and swallowed thickly. "You're…my mother," she spoke slowly, as if testing the words. "You are the Queen."

She gave her a soft smile and nodded, but Emma – she could call herself that now – didn't miss the pain reflected in her eyes. It made her heart ache.

"Yes," the Queen answered quietly. "I am Snow White. Snow for short."

"And…and my father?"

Her smile grew, as did her pain, and Emma was forced to avert her eyes.

"His name is David. You are our only child."

She thought about that. A family. She had a family, she had roots…but nothing stirred within her. There were no emotions that moved her, no _knowing_ of those who loved her most, and she felt the breath back up into her lungs. Instead of crying out and breaking down into hysterical sobs – which, the Gods help her, she wanted to do more than _anything_ – she held her mother's gaze steadily. "I'd like to rest now."

"That is an excellent idea," Doc replied, patting her hand and offering her an encouraging smile.

"Of course." The Queen stepped forward then, reaching out to grasp her hand and squeezing tightly. "You are safe," she told her. _And loved._ But those words weren't spoken out loud. "We'll be here when you wake."

She sighed and Emma saw the brief flash of conflict in her eyes. Compassion rushed through her and before Emma could stop herself she returned the squeeze of Snow's fingers.

"Thank you."

The corners of the Queen's mouth tipped up and she bent to kiss Emma's hand. She didn't look at her again as she left and Emma was glad for it, emotional exhaustion beginning to seep in. She allowed herself one moment of weakness, scrubbing at her face with her hands before turning her eyes on Doc.

"Is what she says true?"

He smiled at her gently, tucking the covers around her. "No one would know better than I, my dear. I've been physician to the Royal Family for over five decades. I helped bring both your mother and you into this world."

She didn't reply, digging deep into the last of her reserves to keep the tears at bay. She watched him as he checked her temperature and pulse one last time, concentrating on keeping her mind blank and her emotions from suffocating her. Before he could turn away, she reached out to curl her shaking hand around his wrist.

"Doc?" Dread's icy fingers crept up her spine. "What if…what if my memory never returns?"

"Oh, my dear," he told her, his hand covering hers affectionately. "Rest, child. Just rest for the time being, tomorrow is a new day."

* * *

The minute the he and the King walked into the Great Hall, his Highness whirled on him. "What's it to be, Jones?"

His brow quirked, amused at the King's sudden lack of formality, but he said nothing, simply moved across the room to a cart of liquor and grabbed a bottle of rum. He uncorked it but before he could raise the bottle to his lips, it was snatched out of his hand. He scowled at the King as it slammed back onto the cart.

"Your answer, _pirate_."

He rolled his eyes at him. "You and your Colonel seem to think that you insult me every time you call me that."

Killian made to move away, but the King's hand gripped at his arm to hold him in place. "The longer we do this, the more time we waste. My daughter's kidnappers are still out there-"

He snatched his arm away and took a step back. "And what concern is that of mine?" he hissed, fatigue and a whirlwind of emotions beginning to crack his carefully constructed composure.

"I am still your King-"

"_I have no King_," Killian spat, his temper spiking as he held his ground.

"No?" The reply came through gritted teeth. "Then why did you come back?"

Killian's body froze in place and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. _Well, shit._ He forced his expression to relax then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he turned away. "Curiosity."

The King exhaled heavily, releasing him from his hold. A moment later Killian heard his boots clicking against the ground as he began to pace. He glanced over his shoulder, the scene a familiar one – the King never paced, except in extreme agitation, he knew that from experience. His Highness had often equated pacing to worrying and worrying to weakness. In this Kingdom, there was no time to be weak, only brave.

"I am not asking as your King," he spoke lowly. "I could, the Gods _know_ I could and would probably insist upon it."

His eyes flickered up and Killian forced his gaze from his, unable to look at him.

"But I am not asking as your King," he repeated. "Jones…_please._ Help me."

Killian turned away with a sigh, his fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You are the King," he answered. "Your resources are endless; you've a number of allies at your disposal, you-"

"You stood at my side once," he said, cutting him off as he moved towards him to place a hand on his shoulder.

Killian's eyes rolled skyward but he refused to shy away from the touch, pride would not allow it. Instead he cursed inwardly, steeling his resolve as his face grimaced in frustration.

"You swore your allegiance to me," the King continued. "There was _no one_ I trusted more-"

"That was a long time ago," he replied, but his voice didn't sound convincing, not even to him. "Your Highness," he sighed again, swiveling to face him.

"There _is_ no one else I trust now, not with this." The King stared at him, eyes bright and determined. "We've tried to keep the incident guarded, but rumors already spread. Someone was able to sneak past the kingdom's defenses, _my_ defenses, and kidnap _my_ daughter. You know the enemies we have…"

He didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to; Killian already knew what it would mean, what it would look like…and what would come: war. The kingdom would appear vulnerable, weak, and ripe for the taking if the King himself could not protect his own loved ones.

His stomach clenched and the tug on his heart came, he couldn't prevent it. His first instinct was to fight, to protect what was his, what he cared about. It engulfed him, made the breath stop short in his lungs. _Damn it._

He was done with war, done with fighting, done with having his choices taken away and following orders blindly. He was his own man now, and he was done with war and this King and this _stupid_ realm. _Bloody buggering fuck._ He never should have come back.

"Your guards-"

"I would trust with my life," the King brushed him off, pausing to turn his knowing gaze on him. "Not hers. I need someone I can trust with _her_ life. You saved her once," he said quietly, his eyes unwavering. "I'm asking you to do it again."

He remembered the searing pain that bloomed in his left shoulder, the sharp sting of the arrow as it tore through skin and muscle. Absentmindedly, his hand reached up to rub at the ache that was there now and through the material of his shirt, he could feel the rough planes of the scar he bore.

"You ask too much," he replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Do I?"

Before he could reply, the doors of the hall opened and the Queen strode in. Killian dropped to his knee automatically, and he cursed himself. He'd been back naught but a day and already old habits were resurfacing. He stood without receiving acknowledgment, like he had done earlier – a small defiance – but she paid him no mind, going straight towards the King.

"David," she said, ignoring formalities.

Her voice was strong but Killian didn't miss the catch at the end and the tremors wracking her small form. His eyes flew to the doors as his brain mapped out the path to the Princess' chamber from memory.

The King's arms came around his wife. "Snow-"

"Emma," she answered, her voice shaking a little more. "She woke up."

Killian's head snapped to them, his body coming to full attention, but he said nothing. He watched the King move towards the door without a single hesitation then lifted his brow when the Queen blocked his path.

"My love, wait!" She pressed her hands into his chest.

"Wait for what? I have to see her-"

"She's resting," she said, her voice deceptively calm.

Killian knew there was more to it the minute the words were out of her mouth. The Queen had never been subtle. "What happened?" he demanded.

She shot a glare at him, whether it was because he spoke out of turn or because she no longer trusted him, he couldn't be sure.

"I must speak with you." She turned her attention back to the King, her eyes already speaking volumes.

"Snow, I don't understand-"

A chill raced down Killian's spine and his stomach rolled anxiously. In his mind he saw her in the moonlight – the silver of her dress, the circlet of jewels around her head, and her hands covered in blood, _his_ blood, as she tried to staunch the bleeding of his wound. He remembered that there had been fear in her eyes and his control snapped suddenly.

He reached for the Queen, hand gripping her arm and forcing her around to face him. She tugged out of his grasp the same moment the King drew his sword and pointed the end at his throat.

"How _dare_ you," she chided.

"You want my help?" he snapped challengingly, irritably. "Then you speak to _me_."

"You always were a reckless boy," the King shot back. "I would have assumed, given your reputation, that you would have grown out of that by now. It seems even a King can be wrong."

Killian held his hands up in a gesture of peace then took a step back while he rebuilt a stoic exterior. Air filled his lungs, calming him, and he watched as the King and Queen exchanged looks. David nodded his head once and Snow sighed in return before turning her heated gaze to Killian.

"Touch her again and I cut off your hand, understood?" David growled, his eyes blazing in anger.

He bowed his head slightly and lowered his eyes, his only sign of submission. They would receive no verbal apology from him.

The King sheathed his sword back into place and the Queen grasped his hand when he was done, linking their fingers together and making them a unit.

"Not here," she murmured, loud enough only for them to hear. Then she tugged on David's hand and led him away.

Killian's jaw clenched as he held back for a moment, steeped in feelings and memories that he thought time would erase, wondering what the _hell_ he was doing complicating his life with these damned royals instead of sailing back out to sea with his crew and his freedom and getting as far away from this wretched land as he could. He cursed under his breath, watching the retreating forms of the King and Queen another second before following after them. He was a sodding idiot; he never should have come back.


End file.
